I haven’t showered in days, it’s silly. I don’t want to wash
the ocean from my hair yet, the specific moonlight from my skin. I want to soak
in it, absorb it all. I keep asking myself: did you pay close enough attention?
Are these things recorded well enough in the pages of your body? Are they true?
Will they stand passing time and all its treachery? And will they matter they
way you want them to always matter? At the same time I try not to think of them
too often, afraid of their fragility. For something to be remembered once,
twice, twenty times, it changes. The colors, the light, the way your chest and
the tide rose and fell and rose. Details are left out or embellished, the spine
of my memory broken, dog-eared, annotated. I think about things too hard
sometimes, worry too much. I remind myself that all languages are foreign, everyone
is translating. We are allowed some legends in our own life. I am allowed to
sigh, to feel in my marrow the incredible coincidence of my existence, the
existence of those I love, the existence of everything and I’m allowed to let
it go again too. It’s ok if I’m not big enough to hold it all. It takes a
universe to even come close.